


what doesn't kill me (makes me want you more)

by loyaulte_me_lie



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Bickering, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, The Thames Incident, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 09:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21250850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: Alex threatening to push Henry into the Thames does nothing for the fact that Henry maybe kind of definitely doesn't fancy him.





	what doesn't kill me (makes me want you more)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cresswells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswells/gifts).

> Hi cresswells! This is from me because it's a pinch hit - I'm sorry I wrote it very fast because I have class reading I have not done for today (you see where my priorities are, lol) so currently unbeta'ed, but it will be looked over and improved when I have time :D hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> No TW I think? Title from Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift.

The logical part of Alex’s brain – the part that reasons through arguments for essays and nerds out over election strategy – knows that he should just stay as far away from HRH Prince Henry as much as possible. It would be sensible to: a) get on with his own life, b) be a hundred times better than Henry could ever dream of, and c) stop being so petty.

However, as is the case when it comes to being a human, there is a catch. Alex might be logical, but sensible runs away screaming at the sight of him. He thinks sensible things, but never quite gets round to the practical action necessary for their execution. Hence the reason he is at some kind of drinks reception at the UK Houses of Parliament with his mother because college holidays and you know, free trips to England are cool when you’ve never been to England before. Also June and Nora are busy doing some writing/coding retreat somewhere in California, and well, he has no friends. Liam stopped speaking to him about a month ago, and whilst Alex is kind of sad and maybe a tiny bit pissed, he doesn’t miss those weird, indecipherable looks Liam would always send him. Life is complicated enough trying to figure out his newish role of First Son without weird friend drama getting in the way.

Twirling a flute of champagne in between his fingers – god _bless _the Brits and their sensible attitude to a legal drinking age – he’s zoning out of listening to the Prime Minister earnestly talk about welfare reform (which sounds like a load of bollocks that’s going to make some people’s lives unnecessarily difficult) when he catches sight of a head of blonde hair. It sticks out because beneath it is a face that Alex totally didn’t expect to see in a crowd of mostly-old mostly-white British politicians who are all being very polite to him because international relations but don’t really have that much time to see Alex as any kind of equal beyond ‘how’s college going?’ and ‘are you proud of your mother?’ which are both boring questions. College is none of their business, and really? Of course he’s proud. His mother is the _first female president of the United States, _what son _wouldn’t _be proud?

Anyway. Alex politely extricates himself from the informal roundtable on stripping the working poor of their lifelines, and heads for the balcony he’d spotted on the way in. It’s chilly out there, and night is falling over what has been a peculiarly lightless day. The London skyline across the Thames glows, and if he turns to his left he can see the icy point of the Shard skewering the colourless clouds.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t realise…”

Alex knows who it is before he even opens his mouth, takes a moment to calm his heart before turning, folding his arms, plastering on a smirk. Prince Henry is standing in the doorway in a grey suit and grey tie.

“Alex,” Henry says, his face shuttering. “Hello.”

“I’m surprised you know my name,” Alex says, “after last time.”

“I would have to be buried under a rock to _not._”

“What, doesn’t Buckingham Palace count?”

“Much to your shock, some news _does _get in. Congratulations to your mother.”

Urgh, Alex thinks, why does he suddenly have to be so polite? It’s like he’s some kind of automaton, stiff shoulders and just-so blonde hair and shuttered blue eyes the colour of a sky just after sunset. Prince 1.0, dress him up and play with him to your heart’s content, a perfect toy for little kids.

“Thank you,” Alex says, grudgingly. Why doesn’t he just go? Why can’t they stop having this ridiculous pretence at a civil conversation when it became quite apparent eight months ago that Prince Henry is nothing like that glowing, happy kid from June’s magazine cut out all those years ago?

“I didn’t realise you were here, by the way,” Henry continues. “Are you staying at the palace tonight?”

“No, I’m going to get my sleeping bag and bed down in the House of Commons, what did you think? The Speaker’s Chair looks pretty comfortable.”

Henry is looking at Alex like he doesn’t know what to say. This is the actual worst. The least he could do is go along with the weird sarcastic shit Alex says, not act like it’s an alien language he has no idea how to translate. Then again, to be fair, Alex usually tries to be more charming, but the jetlag is biting and Prince Henry is a dickhead and he really can’t be arsed.

“Um…”

“Of course I’m staying at the palace, it’s a fucking state visit,” Alex corrects, “but I’ll be gone in the morning. My dad’s in Paris, so I’m going to go stay with him. You won’t have to see me after that. By the way, why are you out here? I thought you couldn’t stand being in my presence?”

The tips of Henry’s ears have gone pink. Good, Alex thinks viciously, let him be embarrassed. I was so fucking embarrassed this summer, embarrassed and angry – he deserves to feel that too.

“I came out for the air, actually, it was getting hot in there. Finding you here was an…”

“Unpleasant surprise?”

“If you keep putting words in my mouth, you’re never going to know what I was actually going to say,” Henry points out, mild. Why the hell is he so calm?

“Well, I’m pretty sure I can read it on your face.”

Henry just rolls his eyes, and Alex sees red.

“If you want to cool down, I can 100% shove you in the Thames. Actually you know what, I think that would be a stellar idea…”

“The Thames is deeply polluted and disgusting,” Henry says.

Alex beams at him, all teeth and fake cheer. “All the better.”

“Why are…” Henry starts, but then Amy is poking her head out of the door.

“Found him,” she says into her earpiece. “Mr Claremont-Diaz, your mother’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” Alex says, “don’t worry Henry, I’m sure I’ll find a way to yeet you into the Thames before I go.”

He thinks Henry says something in response, but he doesn’t bother to hear it, following Amy out through the hall and feeling the sickened lurch of his heart in his chest. Calm the fuck down, he tells it. Paris in the morning, You don’t have to see that idiot again.

*

“He threatened to push me into the river,” Henry says, later. Pez looks up from his pint and his phone.

“How romantic. A midnight swim through the Thames with your one true love.”

Henry gives him a look, and Pez laughs, reaches out to take his hand. “He’s not my _one true love._”

“I mean, _logically _I know that’s the case, but your evidence doesn’t line up at all,” Pez says, “it wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. It’s like you’re a tiny flapping moth, and he’s the sexiest lightbulb in town. You just can’t stay away. I didn’t realise mean boys were your thing.”

“I don’t have a _thing _for him,” Henry says, again, less convinced, staring into his own pint. The pub bustles around them, people settling in for a night with the football. The PPOs at the next table are busy pretending to be normal customers and failing.

“I can wait until you’re out of denial,” Pez shrugs, “when you are, I’ll see if I can work my magic, ok?”

“I’m not in denial.”

“Baby chicken, this is a circular conversation that is going to go nowhere until you are ready to break free from its tyranny. He is pretty, you are smitten, let’s move on and talk about the yakking trip until you are ready to honestly confront your feelings.”

“Right,” Henry says again, “yakking. Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on Tumblr: @if-fortunate


End file.
